


This Particular Pleasure

by gigantic



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-28
Updated: 2009-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/pseuds/gigantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer tries re-definition and can't stop over-analyzing how new and young it always feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Particular Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> Post-divorce fic that's not actually about the divorce (directly) but _is_ another story about two dudes in a house. Thanks to insunshine and jadziadrgnrdr for their input and for not telling me to shut up. Any remaining mistakes are due to my failure.

Brendon has this problem sometimes, where he can't fuck unless there's music playing. He's not trying to be overly romantic or set a mood, he just can't deal with the silence. He'll have his legs around Spencer, bucking his hips up, ready for it, and then say, "Wait, shit, turn the channel. Turn the TV to that music hits station or something," right in the middle of everything.

"Are you kidding?" Spencer asks, even though he's done this enough times for him to know that, no, Brendon isn't. "You're so weird."

"I know," Brendon says. "Dude, you know me. Just turn the channel. Not country though. It'll fuck up my rhythm."

Brendon's the strangest person Spencer's ever had sex with; he's got the strangest quirks. It's not saying a whole lot, since Spencer's slept with three people, and Brendon's the third, so it isn't terribly difficult to earn the title for Spencer's most novel sexual experience, but he also figures it counts for something that Haley, at least, didn't really care about the sounds in the room.

"It's about my head space," Brendon had said the first time. "I don't know how to explain it."

He hadn't seemed too worried about what Spencer would think of the request, and he continues to be that way now. Sex in general doesn't seem to be a big deal to Brendon. At least, he's never talked about it with any seriousness.That has to be an indicator in itself, because Spencer doesn't have a million hang-ups of his own or anything, but when Brendon had laughed and first suggested that he give Spencer head, Spencer had honestly believed he'd been _joking_.

He found out otherwise when Brendon ended up on his knees while they were watching fucking Ghostbusters, of all things. Right then and there Spencer decided that if they ever played drinking games during movies again, it couldn't be with any more videos he associated with his childhood.

It's been a continuously enlightening few weeks since then. Like now, for example, when Spencer pauses to reach for the remote and flip the channel, Brendon opens up almost immediately as some alternative rock song filters into the room. The music thing. It really works.

"This isn't even sexy," Spencer says, but he touches Brendon's stomach and stretches out against him again anyway.

Brendon says, "Who cares? Are you going to let it stop you?"

"You almost let having the news on stop you," Spencer points out.

"That's different," Brendon says. He smirks. "There was an old dude on the screen. He was staring."

;;

On Sunday, after dinner but before they do the dishes, they make out on the couch. Brendon slides his hand under Spencer's shirt, dragging along Spencer's side, moving up to touch his nipple, and Spencer wonders if this is the kind of shit he missed out on in high school. He was never that kid, but there's something about this scene that makes him feel like this is how it could've been, necking in the den and afraid that Brendon's parents were going to come downstairs and find them.

He wonders if Brendon would have even been bold enough to make out with him back in high school. Probably not. He wonders why every time they hook up, he can't stop overanalyzing how new and young it always feels.

He and Brendon aren't polar opposites. They simply have had opposite experiences when it comes the circumstances surrounding their sex lives. Spencer has lived with the majority of the people he's slept with, whether in a relationship, or at least a pretty dedicated friendship situation. Spencer doesn't think either of them want anything serious, but the fact that he sees Brendon more than everyone else and still likes it might mean they're committed roommates. Brendon, on the other hand, hasn't even lived in the same state as most of the people he's slept with, excluding Shane, and now Spencer.

They're just different. Spencer's only ever been completely comfortable with one person thus far, but Brendon's bold enough even after only a few times with the same person to push up on his elbows and rock his hips against Spencer, eyebrows raised, suggestive.

Spencer knows a proposition's coming before Brendon opens his mouth.

"Fingers," Brendon says, lifting up some. "Yes? No?"

Spencer says, eyes widening, "Wait, you mean. Where? In my ass?"

"Yeah," Brendon says. "Is that cool?"

He's smiling softly, lips twisted in a halfway grin that makes him look amused. Laughing. Brendon's laughing at him.

"Uh," Spencer says. They've messed around, and Spencer's fucked Brendon a few times now, but they've never switched it. "I've never, so. I don't know."

"Really?" Brendon asks, eyebrows shooting up. He pushes up on his arms some. "Spence, don't fuck with me. Really?"

Spencer frowns, and then laughs despite himself. He closes his eyes and wishes Brendon would just blow him or something. He says, "Shut up."

"Oh, you have to let me," Brendon says, more excited than Spencer would say is necessary. "Spencer. Shit, for real. We _have_ to."

;;

Everybody Spencer knows well or speaks to with any sort of regularity does ask after Brendon now. He doesn't know what that counts for though, because it's also true that they live together, so Spencer sees it as common courtesy. Half the time that they're out, when Brendon gets off the phone with someone, he says, "Oh, Shane said what's up," or switches it to whomever might have been talking to him. Sometimes it's things like, "Mason says hi, and he's sending you those Manilow CDs," and Spencer wonders if people just assume they're always around one another.

"Your brother hates me, doesn't he?" Spencer says, even though Mason has told Spencer to his face that he thinks Spencer's cooler than homemade Flavor-Aid ice cube popsicles. Brendon's whole family shares the same brand of slightly cheesy humor.

"Dude," Brendon says. "Don't act like you didn't ask for them. My brother loves you enough to package with care."

"I don't want to hear about your brother's package," Spencer says.

Brendon says, "Your mom."

"Is cool as fuck!" Spencer shouts.

Laughing, Brendon says, "Damn Skippy, not Jiffy. Jif. You know what I mean."

"Now I want some PB and J." Spencer nodes sagely.

"Let's go home," Brendon says. "When we get back to the house, I'll make them."

"Cool." Spencer's certainly more than okay with that. His phone buzzes, and when he checks it, it's a text from Haley. They talk back and forth a bit, and five messages in, she asks how Brendon is.

 _same old Brendon_ , Spencer writes and thinks about how that's not entirely accurate, because Brendon is still the same, as a guy, but a lot of things between them, surrounding them, in _relation_ to him and Spencer have shifted. For one, Spencer has spent quite a bit more time with his dick in Brendon's ass, but he's not really sold on the idea of sending _that_ text back.

He and Haley are still friends but they aren't friends like Brendon and Shane, because Spencer's pretty certain that Regan even knows Brendon and Shane were fucking during their off period, but the three of them are still as close as ever. Spencer doesn't really understand how Brendon constantly manages to be so lucky with people. He wonders if it's plausible that that was something Ryan taught him while he busy acting like a fourth period health teacher for Brendon, because he's always managed the same thing.

Haley writes back, _tell him I say hi!_

Spencer has the best intentions, but then he forgets, because Brendon starts telling him a story about Pete, and when they get home, Brendon makes sandwiches and ends up lying in bed with Spencer while they watch television. When they go to sleep that night, the fact that they're in the same bed without having done anything is just a hazard of the evening, but Spencer keeps thinking about the distance between them on the bed, how it's less than a foot, and then smaller when he wakes up in the middle of the night.

;;

...And that, Spencer assumes a day later, is how Brendon must do it. He must have already succumbed to Brendon's talents for confounding people through earnestness and cutting the crusts off his peanut butter sandwiches. It's that kind of stuff that prevents Spencer from thinking about the fact that Brendon's already slept with way too many of their mutual friends before him.

He's got his mouth on Brendon's neck, teeth grazing the skin just enough to make Brendon keen. Brendon says, "Fuck, fuck, _god_ ," and pushes the pads of his fingers into Spencer's skin, flexing.

His enthusiasm is something else Spencer hasn't gotten a handle on. Brendon is energetic and his brain moves thirty miles a minute, but he's present and focused, always responding to Spencer like he's being touched exactly the way he hoped for, just waiting for someone to get it right. Maybe he learned it from watching porn.

Spencer wonders who else has gotten this. He says -- _blurts_ , "Have you fucked Zack?"

"What?" Brendon asks, breathless. He looks shocked and then laughs. "I should elbow you in the face for that." Spencer slides his hand up Brendon's thigh in lieu of an intelligent response. "No. No, I haven't."

"Right," Spencer says and accepts belatedly that it doesn't actually make a difference in this moment.

;;

"You're about a hundred times better at this house and home stuff than me," Brendon says after Spencer suggests they test the smoke detectors. It isn't true, but it makes Spencer think of them in categories and juxtapositions while he's squirting cheese on Ritz crackers.

Brendon thinks Spencer's better at maintaining a home, and Spencer knows Brendon's done a wider variety of craziness in bed, which isn't even fair, since Spencer's almost positive everything Brendon first learned about sex, seriously, Ryan told him. They once had a conversation about how, even though Brendon went to public school, his parents never signed the permission forms for Sex Ed week in school, and Ryan took it upon himself to introduce Brendon to the internet and free porn.

There was a practical application period too, Spencer knows. He ignored most of it, especially once it started to drag on and stopped seeming like either of them were only having fun, but it did happen. He tries not to think about the idea that maybe he's reaping the benefits of it now.

Spencer says, "I'm following your lead, man. You were talking about the security system the other day."

"I had this nightmare about someone sneaking into the house," Brendon says, taking one of Spencer's crackers and making pleased noises around the crunch.

Spencer says, "The one from before? I didn't know you had recurring dreams, by the way."

"It's not like they're happening every other day. Only sometimes," Brendon says. "Anyway, yeah. It made me a little paranoid."

"We can call to make sure everything's updated then," Spencer says.

Spencer also still wants to get the deck weather-proofed. Los Angeles doesn't have the most difficult weather he's ever experienced, of course, but they come through dropping their soaking wet stuff from the ocean often enough that Spencer thinks about it. Having it done will be good for when it does rain or something, too. He and Brendon talked about it before tour, forever ago now, but Brendon had said it was a matter of the doing.

"We need to take the time," Brendon says. "It's one of those things, man. People talk and talk and then never actually do it. We just have to make some calls."

Brendon always says 'we' and 'us' and 'back home' without ever adding the 'to my place'. He's included Spencer since they first started throwing around the idea of having him move in for real. Brendon had said, "It'll be fucking perfect. You can move your bed up here, or we'll buy a new one. And a frame. Oh, shit, we probably have to buy a new flat screen too, because I think the one we have is Shane's, actually."

When Brendon makes the decision to share, he does it completely -- _has_ done it. With food, his drinks, his clothes on tour minus the underwear, his family during the holidays, and his house, he opens it up and lets whomever asks roam free. "Mi casa es su casa" is a phrase Brendon has actually said in Spencer's presence, and since Spencer's moved in, Brendon's treated it like it's theirs -- fifty-fifty. Spencer's name isn't on the house, but he does pay his share now, and Brendon doesn't treat him like a landlord or something, like he's renting a room. He extends it, asking Spencer his opinion on things, including him in the maintenance decisions. Before Haley, Spencer lived with his parents, and so this is probably the closest thing to a regular roommate situation he's ever had, and he's not even sure it's the same thing.

"Nosotros casa es su casa," Brendon says when Regan and Shane come by and eat dinner with them one night.

Shane says, "Things change quick, huh? You're all settled in."

"It's been like six months? Seven months!" Brendon says. "Quit whining."

"I think it's 'nuestra,'" Spencer says, gnawing on his lip as he thinks about it. "Nuestra casa es su casa."

Brendon looks at him and says, "Really?" He thinks about it again and shrugs. "Wait, you're right. The point -- point: you can do what you want."

;;

They go surfing with Pete. Brendon's trying to catch one more wave -- "Just one, I promise, maybe two, then we can eat." -- while Spencer's dragging his board onto the beach. Pete sits down on the sand beside him, and he says, "This dude doesn't know when to say when."

"He's addicted," Spencer says. "And watch, he'll be freezing when he gets out because the sun's going down, then complain about it."

Pete laughs and lies back on the sand. He covers his face with his hands for a moment and then squints up. Turning his face to the side, he says, "We'll just tell him to suck it up."

"I think I have a jacket in the car. I brought it for me, but I probably won't need it," Spencer says. "He can use it."

Snorting, amused, Pete says, "Okay," and smiles. "You let him do that."

Spencer rolls his shoulder and stretches out some, ignoring it. He says, "Alright, alright, Wentz. Where are we eating?"

Pete's in the mood for Chinese, and Brendon doesn't particularly care when he gets out. Spencer's right about him being cold. Brendon says he just wants some dry clothes, letting his teeth chatter a little dramatically. He's done that since Spencer can remember, letting his jaw wobble and click, and Pete laughs.

He says, "Spencer said you'd be freezing."

"It was worth it!" Brendon says, rummaging through the stuff in the trunk of Pete's car. He pulls out a hoodie and holds it out, investigating. "Spence, is this yours? Can I use it?"

"Yeah," Spencer says, and he watches Brendon get a shirt on and put on the hoodie once he's toweled off. Pete cuffs him on the head, still laughing.

He says, "You're fucking shivering. That's adorable."

"Suck my dick," Brendon says, gritting his teeth, but it doesn't take much for it to become a grin. Pete and Brendon always smile at each other with all their teeth, and Spencer watches the lines of the shoulders in relation to one another and wonders if he's let something about them slip by during the years where he didn't think to pay attention.

Proximity does it to him now, makes him watch enough to be concerned. Spencer isn't worried about other people so much as he's never had to consider whether or not he's part of a list before.

At dinner, they talk about _Three's Company_ reruns, buying new gloves for biking, and how Brendon's been entertaining thoughts of spandex against everybody's better judgment. Pete uses his powers for evil and says he'll join in if Brendon goes through with it, and Brendon says, "Oh! Pete, okay. Let me go to the bathroom, and then we'll set it up. This is happening."

While he's gone, Spencer says, "What are you starting? I have to live with that."

"Like you won't be wearing it too," Pete says. Spencer shakes his head, and Pete laughs. "It's nothing but bad news from here on out. First its spandex, then you lose complete control of your household. Trouble in paradise for the happy couple."

"All our children the products of a broken home," Spencer says.

Pete says, "If it helps, I'll vouch for your character in the custody battle. 'He bought the dogs all the best bedazzled jackets.'"

"Oh, wow, I appreciate it," Spencer says, wryly, but he chuckles and pushes his hair out of his face.

Pete plays with the straw in his drink, stirring it some. He says, "So, it's a household, huh?"

He's so vague that Spencer knows exactly what he's talking about. He doesn't really feel like making it easy though, especially if he's about to find out about the time Pete and Brendon sucked face in a public bathroom or had sex in a hotel room or whatever. He says, "We are two dudes, living in the same place."

"Sounds ideal. Nice benefits to being two," Pete says, because Spencer forgot that quickly that Pete can be a big dick too. He's smirking around his straw.

Spencer puts his elbows on the table, hunching forward. He says, "Yeah, I guess." After a moment, he lifts his elbow again and realizes he's put it right in a small pool of condensation. "It's something to get used to. I don't really know what it is."

"I'm the king of awkward, inauspicious beginnings," Pete says. "Look how I turned out."

"Thanks," Spencer says, because that's completely not reassuring, just based on the way Pete smiles about it. He knows mischief when he sees it. "I'm not used to this part. I think that's what it is. The not really knowing."

"Have you asked him?" Pete says, taking his straw out of his glass, licking it, and dropping it back in his cup. "In my time as an adult -- so the last two years -- I've heard that asking, man, it works sometimes."

"Right." There's a thought. Yeah, Spencer thinks. Asking. Yeah, no.

;;

During the first week of February, Brendon buys Sarah a card to mail out in time for Valentine's Day. Spencer checks out the candy aisle while he makes his selection, two away from Brendon, and he looks at the peanut butter cups and the Cadbury chocolate bars with almonds and tries to decide on which he wants more. If he gets the cups, they can share more than if Spencer grabs a couple of small bars.

"Got it," Brendon says, and he holds up the card. He's got a light green envelope for it too. "It's kind of funny."

Spencer really likes Sarah, and as he reads the card, he thinks she'll enjoy it. It seems right up her alley, from what he knows about her sense of humor, and Brendon looks pleased when Spencer chuckles and gives him a thumbs up.

"Nice," he says.

"Right? I thought so," Brendon says and sets it down in the grocery basket he's carrying around.

Brendon and Sarah have been stuck in a state of inactivity for a few months, Spencer's pretty sure, but Brendon still talks about her often enough that Spencer knows they're still friends, maybe still interested. He hadn't been the most well-versed person in the rules of their relationship before, but they used to at least make an effort to see one another once a month. He hasn't seen Sarah in a while, and the only time Brendon's left Southern California recently has been to visit his parents for the birthday party they threw his younger cousin.

"I should get one for Haley," Spencer says, and Brendon's eyes come up again.

The smile that crosses his mouth comes slowly, but then he says, "Yeah. Yeah, do you want me to pick it? I'm kind of good at it, as you know."

Spencer cocks his elbow out, bumping into Brendon. He shakes his head, the corner of his lips quirked, and he says, "I think I got it."

"Sure?" Brendon says. "Because I can help."

Despite the insistence, Spencer picks out the card, while Brendon stands at the end of the aisle and reads all the cards for baby's first birthday just because. A few of them even come with audio, and Spencer even gets distracted himself, tuning in to one made to sound like the voiceover for a movie trailer with fake audio censors. Baby's first word is bleeped out.

"How do they allow something like this?" Brendon says, but he's laughing, and because of him, it takes Spencer way longer than it should.

They mail the envelopes out together, and seven days later, they go to a special Sunday happy hour at a Thai place down the street from the house. Holiday or no, there's nothing better than cheap skewers and cheap beers. Brendon hums along with half the songs that come on over the speakers, and most of them aren't even love songs, so Brendon pushing his nose against Spencer's neck as they stumble-walk back down to their street is a bonus but not indicative of anything.

"Fuck," Brendon says. "I'm almost drunk."

"Those Palominos were strong, man," Spencer says, touching the nape of Brendon's neck and then dropping down to his shoulder.

Brendon says, "Yeah."

He manages to let them in the front door but drops his keys on the floor on the other side, wrapping his arms around Spencer's neck. Spencer kisses him, and he's grateful that Brendon's as pliant and vocal as ever when Spencer pushes up his t-shirt and slips to his knees.

;;

Bogart takes it upon himself to empty the contents of his stomach on the kitchen floor on Wednesday and Thursday, and Brendon says, "Fuck. He might not be sick, right? Should I nix going to Vegas this weekend?"

"No," Spencer says, once they've cleaned up the mess. "It's your brother's birthday shindig. Go. I can take care of it, if there's an issue."

It takes a little more coaxing, because Brendon says he doesn't want to make his dog Spencer's responsibility, but Spencer insists. He really doesn't mind. So, Brendon goes to Nevada for the weekend, while Spencer hangs around and tracks drums for two songs. When he gets home that night, Bogart's gotten sick on the tile again, and that's how he finds himself calling Shane in the early evening and asking about his vet.

"I can meet you there, if you want," Shane says on the phone.

Spencer says, "I've got it. I haven't had a chance to eat though, if you want to grab something. You and Regan."

"Pick something up and bring it by here with Bogart. Dylan and Indie'll probably be into it."

"Alright," Spencer says.

The vet asks Spencer a bunch of questions about Bogart's eating habits and how he spends his time. He says that it's always easiest to try to determine what the issue might be if he has a sample, which grosses Spencer out, but after some more questions and Spencer trying to describe what he's seen, the doctor says it's probably dietary indiscretion.

"Monitor him for the next couple of days," he says. "Make sure that if he goes into your backyard, he's not trying to eat a bunch of leaves and grass. There may be some weeds or something that he's picking at."

Spencer waits until he's out of the offices with Bogart to call Brendon and tell him what's happened. Brendon frets and asks whether there was blood, because he's coming back right away if Bogart's choking up his intestines or something, but Spencer says, "Dude, it's cool. He's just eating stuff he isn't supposed to have. Leaves or something. I'm gonna watch him closer."

"Okay," Brendon says. "Man, alright. He hasn't been sick before, you know."

"It's fine," Spencer promises, and Brendon seems to believe it after a minute, so Spencer changes the subject and says he's going to visit Shane. He's taking Bogart with him.

"Dude, without me? I'm gonna be all jealous and shit now, thanks." Brendon's laughing though.

When they get off the phone, Spencer makes a mental note to take some pictures of the puppies for Brendon, because that's the kind of pointless stuff they both appreciate.

He forgets until he gets to Shane's that there's a possibility for things to feel uncomfortable. The thought sneaks into his sentences after a long delay, because Shane asks Spencer when Bogart's stomach started acting up, and Spencer acknowledges two seconds before he's about to speak that he can't say that he and Brendon first noticed after they had sex in the shower. It had been particularly traumatizing, because Spencer almost stepped in it, and Brendon had found Spencer's horror hilarious until he stopped to worry about his dog.

Spencer tells him the latter part and skips the lead-up while they stand around, waiting for Regan to get back from the corner store with wine. Spencer says, "I almost put my foot right in it the other day. It could have been a tragedy."

Because Spencer likes and respects Shane, he hasn't said anything to Shane about how he's fucking his ex-boyfriend. If that's even what Brendon is to him. He's not sure of how titles worked with them. What Spencer knows for sure is that there were points where Regan wasn't fully in the picture, and Shane and Brendon were living together and showing up late everywhere, and Spencer never watched any unmarked tapes when Shane was still living in the house because of a comment Brendon made about how he'd surprised himself in major ways thanks to just putting shit in and hitting play all willy-nilly.

They weren't messing around by the time Spencer started crashing at the house whenever he was in LA, but sitting in with them still felt intrusive the first few times without Ryan and Jon also taking up space, so Spencer's still unsure of how to treat recent developments around Shane. He also can't tell if Brendon's told him anything. The way Shane constantly hangs out with them, joking and laughing like everything's tops suggests that maybe he hasn't heard, but Shane's relationship with Brendon is the most functional of any of the relationships Spencer's witnessed second-hand. He might know, and they might just be well-adjusted enough to stay cool about it.

Still, Spencer doesn't have immediate plans to say anything himself. It's not his place. He'll respond truthfully if asked, however. That much he knows. He is an _adult_ after all.

Laughing, Shane says, "Sucks," and picks through the containers of food. Spencer's picked up Italian, pastas and breads because that's what he drove past first. "He looks okay now."

"Yeah," Spencer says. "Brendon was worried."

Shane asks, "When does he come back? Sunday?"

"Monday morning." He's driving in and heading right to the studio for work. "We've still got more recording, you know. Hey, are you coming through?"

"If you want me to," Shane says. He picks at some garlic bread. "Mm -- what are you guys doing for St. Paddy's? We should have a party."

"I don't have plans," Spencer says, sliding his finger back and forth on the counter. "I don't know about Brendon."

Shane furrows his brow and swallows. "You're not hanging together?"

"It's a possibility," Spencer says. "We haven't talked about it, is what I mean. He could want to do something else. We don't keep tabs on each other all the time."

"Mm," Shane says, still picking at the food. He looks at Spencer again and shakes his head, dusting his hands off. "Well, if you want to, you should come over here."

"That could be a good time," Spencer says and looks around when he hears the door open and Regan calls out to them about Merlot.

;;

Brendon's cranky when he gets back from Vegas. He stretches his arms up and exhales a lot, not sighing, but he moves in small ways, enough to indicate his restlessness. Spencer doesn't mind it. He has experience with younger siblings and several years of being in tight quarters with his band and crew under his belt, including Brendon. Ignoring someone and giving them their space isn't a hardship for him, but he was more glad about Brendon coming back when he thought it didn't mean having to deal with the dude feeling grumpy.

"Did Bogart get his last walk?" Brendon asks, coming out of his room and kneeling on the floor next to his dog.

Spencer says, "Not yet."

Exhaling through his nose, Brendon says, "Alright."

His jaw works methodically, but he doesn't speak again. Spencer thinks he might me grinding his teeth, a habit Spencer knows Brendon's talked about having as a child that only resurfaces again occasionally.

Spencer says, "I can come with you."

"No, don't get up," Brendon says, and Spencer rolls his eyes.

He lets Brendon walk out alone, turning his attention back to the television. There isn't anything on, so he flips channels and lands on Seinfeld episodes. He's in the kitchen getting a beer when Brendon returns, getting a doggy treat for Bogart and letting him run off into the living room.

"Want one?" Spencer asks, holding up his Corona.

Brendon turns around, sniffing suddenly. He says, "Dude, is that the trash? Has that been in here all day?"

"You're in a complaining mood," Spencer says.

"It smells in here. That's not justified?"

Spencer takes out the trash and comes back. Brendon's moving dishes from the sink to the dishwasher. He puts a new trash bag in the can, and Spencer says, "Rough day at home?"

"No," Brendon says. He shrugs to himself, and then the movement extends itself as he shimmies out of his jacket. Brendon walks out into the living room and tosses it on the couch. Spencer follows, grabbing his beer again and stepping close enough to let his knuckles bump against the small of Brendon's back.

Turning around, Brendon reaches for the beer and takes it without asking. Spencer lets him drink. When Brendon lowers his arm, staring, he licks his lips and steps closer, rocking up on his feet to move in for a kiss. Spencer's right hand finds Brendon's side, and he tilts his head, obliging Brendon. The kiss starts out soft but escalates. Their tongues brush, and Spencer feels his senses heighten. He takes the beer back from Brendon and sets it aside, dedicating himself this new prospect.

His hands are sliding just under the waist of Brendon's pants as he asks, "You good?"

Brendon groans, giving no clear indication either way. He keeps kissing Spencer, pressing closer, up onto his toes. He's a solid weight, relying on Spencer enough for Spencer to feel like he's really working some, keeping Brendon's steady.

"Brendon -- "

"I want to fuck," Brendon says, voice gruff. "Let me fuck you."

Spencer's dick is sure interested in that idea. He's already half-hard, stepping back gradually to lead Brendon toward the hall. Whatever Brendon lacks in conversation, he makes up for in physical insistence now, and Spencer thinks he can understand this.

Talking isn't always the answer. They discard more clothing every few paces.

;;

In the morning, Brendon makes eggs. He puts tomato and mushrooms in them too, and Spencer scrubs a hand over his face and wonders what the hell even happened.

"Are you an alien?" he says when Brendon sits two plates on the counter for them. They taste even better than they look.

"My name is Klaatu," Brendon says, deadpan, but it doesn't stick. He smirks down at his plate and stabs at the tomatoes.

"You're Keanu Reeves?" Spencer asks. Brendon snorts and shakes his head. Spencer watches him eat, observing as Bogart sniffs around the floor and Brendon drops down to give him some egg. The quiet is different from the night before, fraught with tension. "You're in a better mood."

"It was a long ride yesterday," Brendon says, explaining. "I don't know. Today's better."

Nodding, Spencer decides not to dwell. He considers inquiring further for a moment, but Brendon's business is Brendon's business. If he wanted to say more, Spencer might not be able to get him to shut up. Brendon isn't starved for conversation, but the way he makes himself comfortable around people is by running his mouth.

"Hey, well, Shane was telling me he wanted to have a party --"

"-- Oh, yeah," Brendon says. "He called me on the road and told me about it. You're not gonna go?"

"What?" Spencer says. He'd never said that.

Brendon says, "Shane said you said something about having something else."

"I meant just in case," Spencer says. He takes another bite of his food, chews, and swallows before speaking more. "I didn't know your plans, or anything."

It feels fucking stupid to say, because a big part of the reason Shane's been around for as long as he has, become decent friends with most of them, is because he and Brendon took to one another so well. Coordinating it shouldn't be a huge deal, but Spencer doesn't want to assume things about Brendon's interests, and he doesn't want to rule out anything for himself. He's not about to ask Brendon to the party like they need to go as dates either, however, which means Spencer stands around the kitchen floundering about a conversation he had semi-randomly.

"I mean," he says. "I'll probably go."

"Yeah." Brendon clears his throat. He drops another piece of egg for Bogart and looks at Spencer carefully before dropping his head back to his own food. "I always see Shane sooner or later."

Spencer says, "Right, right."

"Yeah," Brendon says. "But, yeah. The point is I heard."

"Cool," Spencer says. Then that's that.

;;

With Haley, Spencer met her at a show, and he'd been less nervous to ask her out than he thought he'd be, and after that first time, everything else seemed even easier.

With Brendon, half the reason Spencer doesn't consider asking him about their pattern for hooking up is because Brendon points at people while they're out and says, "Dude. I think that girl just gave me the wink. It could be my cue."

"Who, in real life, gives someone the wink?" Spencer asks.

Brendon laughs, the sounds a little lost under the music and commotion. He says, "She did. She definitely did. I'm gonna get another drink at the bar. Do you want?"

"No," Spencer says, tapping the side of his beer. "I think I'm set."

"Alright," Brendon says, sliding out of the booth. He tugs at his t-shirt, situating himself and then looks back. "You sure?"

Spencer shrugs, nodding. Brendon taps the top of his chair says, "Okay," before walking off toward the bar. Spencer watches him go, because it's not like he has anything else to do. He finishes his drink and pulls out his phone to check his emails and fuck around with his apps. He takes a picture of his glass and sings along with the Shakira remix under his breath, surprising himself, because he hadn't even realized he knew the words to this single.

Eventually, he does need another drink, or he needs to go home. Brendon's still at the bar, talking to the girl. If Spencer gets another drink, he'll have to worry about waiting around again to let that drink wear off, and instead he opts to walk to the bar and pat Brendon's back.

"Hey, I think I might head out," he says, and Brendon looks around.

"Oh," he says, "yeah, um," and he gestures to the girl. "Spence, this is... Janine, right? Janine. Janine, this is Spencer."

"Hey," she says, lifting a hand.

Spencer returns the small wave and says to Brendon, "So, if. I don't know if you're --"

"I can catch a cab," Brendon says evenly, and then he smiles a moment later. "If that's cool."

It's not like Spencer's going to say no. He has no right to say no or anything, and he doesn't really care either way. He says, "Yeah, sure. I'll catch you later then."

;;

He stops to bum a cigarette from a stranger outside, saying, "Excuse me, you wouldn't have another one, would you?"

"Sure. They're Marlboro 10s," the guy says, and Spencer doesn't even care.

He doesn't smoke often, not the way Brendon and Ryan took to it, but some nights it's exactly what he needs. Spencer gives his thanks, also borrows the man's lighter, and then takes a drag, immediately satisfied. The taste comes in bitter but perfect, everything he'd anticipated, and Spencer tries to recall exactly how far down he parked the car.

Brendon's got an amazing memory for that kind of stuff, always the one to recall where the car is, where he put the keys, and all the other important details people forget because they're doing eight things at once. Spencer would just call Brendon and ask -- it would be easier had Brendon simply _come_ with him -- but he's otherwise occupied. That's fine.

Spencer kills the cigarette, finds the car himself, and drives home. Bogart is lying on his bed in the corner of the living room when he gets there. He has another in Brendon's bedroom, but he always flops down in the living room to wait for them to come back. Spencer pets him, and Bogart wakes for a moment, but he doesn't really move. He stays when Spencer walks away, going to bed.

He doesn't know how long he's out before he hears movement in the house. Spencer blinks a few times, twisting on the bed at the same time that someone's coming into his room and settling on the mattress.

"Brendon," he mutters, and Brendon makes a low, perfunctory noise, sliding in.

He says, "Honey, I'm home," and closes the space between them. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Spencer takes a breath. His mind takes a while to catch up, piecing the evening together. He thinks about the bar and Brendon and the girl he met, and when Brendon's close enough, Spencer smells cigarettes.

"Dude," Spencer says as Brendon reaches for his side. "You didn't even take off your clothes. Did you just get in?"

"Yeah."

Spencer catches a glimpse of his digital clock, trying to acclimate himself to 3AM, all dark and smelling like stale bar excitement. When Brendon begins to shimmy out of his shirt, Spencer thinks about Janine.

He says, "Brendon," again, exhaling. "I'm trying to sleep."

"Then close your eyes," he says and giggles. "Okay, I'm wasted."

Spencer groans, annoyed. He tilts his head up and away when Brendon rolls in, pressing his smile against his shoulder, still chuckling, and then kisses it. Brendon moves up and Spencer sighs, touching Brendon's arm. He halts him.

"Brendon," he says. It hasn't even been a solid few hours, probably, since he finished with the girl he met.

Brendon says, "Spencer," in the same tone. "We're sleeping."

The fact that he pushes his hand across Spencer's stomach doesn't particularly do anything to support that theory. Spencer feels hot and increasingly irritable, slipping away and out of the bed.

"What?" Brendon asks, the word half-formed and a little disoriented. "Where are you going?"

"Bathroom," Spencer says, but he leaves and goes into Brendon's room instead, closing his eyes once he flops on the bed.

Young and new, young and new. Spencer takes a breath and debates with himself about getting up and shutting the bedroom door.

He turns over and tries to sleep.

;;

He wakes earlier than he expects to the next morning, walks Bogart, and then heads out for coffee way before Brendon gets out of bed. _His_ bed. Spencer's a little surprised that Brendon didn't follow him at all the night before, wondering why Spencer hadn't ever resurfaced from the bathroom. It's better that way, because Spencer got a good night's sleep, and Brendon was able to sleep off the booze and the night, and now they can go into the studio with clear heads.

But that means that the problem with trying to give one another space is that he and Brendon are eventually going to find themselves in the same place today, whether they want to or not. Spencer buys him his usual from Starbucks anyway.

It's probably cooled down a lot by the time Brendon gets to the studio, wearing sunglasses and rubbing a hand over his hair. He tosses his jacket onto the couch in the control room and sets his bag. Spencer looks up from speaking with Jon Feldman and says, "Your macchiato's on that table."

Brendon turns around, grabbing it. "Thanks," he says, but there's no real fanfare to it, short and simple. Spencer isn't necessarily sure if he's waiting for a scene, but he's surprised at how his body relaxes fifteen minutes into having Brendon there without exchanging words about the bar.

When everything else is bullshit, then write a fucking song. That's been Spencer's motto since Brent said it a few months after they'd started playing together. He, Ryan, and Spencer had sat around Spencer's grandparents' house, complaining about homework and teachers and picking colleges, and after a while, they'd all been restless and frustrated, and nothing they played that day was especially worthwhile, but it felt good to do it. The phrase has outlasted his stay more than twice over now, but Brent had been right about the sentiment.

Working in the studio isn't stressful, but the phrase crosses Spencer's mind more than once, mainly because he and Brendon don't say a whole lot to each other outside of talking about the music. By the time they call it quits for the day, Spencer's exhausted, and after he stretches his arms out and says, "I could go for a meal and a full-body massage," he realizes it's the most significant thing he's said to Brendon all day that didn't have to do with progressions and song arrangements.

"Yeah," Brendon says, yawning for emphasis.

His shirt rises slightly when he reaches above his head, flexing his fingers, and Spencer notices the way it doesn't pull quite far enough to expose skin. Brendon flops them back to his side, a hollow smacking sound echoing around them in the parking lot, and Spencer mimics the lazy smile Brendon takes on at the sound.

Nobody ever told him not-dating his bandmate was going to be so fucking tempting all the time.

"We can make one of those happen for certain," Spencer says, refocusing himself.

They stop at California Pizza Kitchen, but they order food for take-out instead of hanging around. It isn't sushi, but their jambalaya does their appetites justice on its own, usually, anyway. Spencer hands the bag to Brendon as they slip into the car, Spencer starting the ignition and looking over his shoulder before he reverses.

Brendon peeks into the bag and pulls out the bread that came with their meal. He opens the plastic baggie and starts to eat a piece, saying, "I'm tired, man, but I think it's holdover from yesterday. I was sloppy last night."

"Heh," Spencer says and feels like a tool. He keeps his eyes on the road. "You took a cab?"

Nodding, Brendon says, "Yeah," and chews methodically. When he swallows, he looks over to Spencer. "Did I bother you? I kind of -- I mean, I woke up in your bed with my shirt kind of --"

He makes a flipping motion with his hand, twisting his wrist. Spencer doesn't really know what he's trying to indicate. Spencer says, "You were noisy, but --"

"I tried to kiss you," Brendon says, voice not entirely readable, like it's dawning on him or like he's just letting himself trust that that's what happened.

Spencer says, "It was whatever."

"But you," Brendon says and huffs. "You were in my bed. You left early."

"You had just come back from hooking up with that girl," Spencer says, chuckling reflexively. Of all the knee-jerk reactions, Spencer wishes that that hadn't been the one his body reached for in this moment.

"I didn't fuck her," Brendon says, biting off another piece of bread. His words sound fuzzy.

"It wouldn't matter either way." Spencer looks into his rearview, motioning for a car to speed around him before he changes lanes on the street.

Brendon looks confused. "Except I woke up with no shirt on in your bed by myself. Did you run away?"

"You were drunk."

"You got mad," Brendon says, raising his eyebrows. Spencer doesn't understand how he's the person who gets to be shocked here, and then he curses under his breath and changes the radio station. "Spence."

"Let it go, dude," Spencer says.

Brendon shifts around in his seat, not allowing a comfortable silence to settle in at first. He keeps making small preparatory noises, as if he wants to speak again. Nothing comes. Eventually, Spencer ignores it and watches the lines of the road disappear quickly.

;;

Music. They record another song and sit in while the engineer assists on the rough mixes of two previous tracks. The record's coming along. Spencer can't tell what the final product will be yet, only just getting a sense of its shape, but he's happy with the parts so far.

Brendon keeps talking about song order, saying, "It could be cool if it goes from high-energy and down, fading out. I keep thinking of candles. Or, you know what, this schizophrenic level thing could work too."

"Is schizophrenic good, though?" Spencer asks.

"If it's _done_ right," Brendon says. "We can feel it out. Test the lines."

He makes some sort of incongruous spirit fingers motion to accompany the statement. Spencer chuckles and says, "Okay," thankful for this kind of conversation, because it breaks up the silence that comes when they try to do anything else lately.

In the house, they watch TV and laugh at some of the same jokes, and then sigh and keep watching in silence. It's fucking weird. It's strange as hell, because that isn't how they work, and then Spencer huffs and slumps down in his chair for thinking about routines and their habits in relation to one another at all.

Brendon gets a phone call in the middle of _Malcolm in the Middle_ reruns, and Spencer can tell by the way he says. 'dude' about ten more times than usual that he must be speaking to Pete. Bogart sniffs around Spencer's feet and then hops up on the couch with him. Spencer scratches behind his ear and pets his head, watching Frankie Muniz break the fourth wall, and he picks up the remote to flip to something different just as Brendon hangs up his cell.

"Pete invited us over to eat with him," Brendon says, stretching his arms out. He stands and slides his phone into his pocket, looking down at Spencer.

Spencer considers it. He's kind of in the mood for dinner, but going in the kitchen and making a sandwich is just as easy. He says, "I don't know. I might stay here."

"Hm," Brendon says, and he cocks his head to the side, looking at Bogart. "What about you, man? You staying too?"

Bogart's ears perk up, but he doesn't move at all. Brendon bends down to pet him, and Spencer's hyperaware of the proximity of Brendon's hand to his crotch, but then it's gone again in a moment. Spencer blinks and clears his head.

Brendon says, "You two are cute," and then smiles, the corners of his mouth lifting so far that it looks goofy, but it settles into something natural eventually, long enough for Spencer to recognize that he's staring, and then Brendon turns away.

"Okay," he says. "I'm going out."

"Alright," Spencer says.

"Don't wait up," Brendon says over his shoulder, grinning -- half-joking, and Spencer wonders as he leaves if Ashlee's going for food too.

;;

While he's gone, Spencer has a nightcap. He drinks half a bottle of shitty white wine on his own, because he and Brendon don't really know the first thing about wine and always buy at random. It tastes bad, but it gets the job done, encouraging Spencer to pick up a controller and play Rockband for two hours, then text Haley once he's beaten his own record for about ten songs. He writes that they should hang out soon. He'll come to Chicago again. It'll be fine.

He forgets he's sent anything until he gets a message fifteen minutes later that says, _whatre you doing up? if you come, we can go to great america :)_

Spencer smiles at his phone, wondering why they broke up, because Haley's fucking great, and he's definitely going to Chicago to visit. Haley's working and she's taking online college courses, and one night class, and then Spencer remembers that that was the whole thing, the different career paths, coupled with the fact that, well, he's twenty-two, and neither of them have a desire to get married just yet. Fuck, man.

It's probably time for bed, if Spencer's already on the road to moping. He's never buying this shitty wine again. It's giving him a headache.

He turns off the television and the gaming system, and he has Bogart follow along with him when he goes to bed. He's still awake when Brendon gets in, staring at the ceiling and thinking about how much he hates that so many houses in Southern California have popcorn ceilings. He holds his breath a little, when Brendon walks past, and then sighs loudly because he realizes how fucking dumb and how fucking drunk he is. Brendon doesn't even come into his bedroom, but Bogart gets up, hops off Spencer's bed and leaves.

Spencer pulls his blankets over his head and thinks about drum notation until he falls asleep.

;;

During their early afternoon drive to the studio, Brendon tells Spencer about how he and Pete tried create their own shot. He laughs at himself, saying, "We mixed a lot of shit that shouldn't be mixed."

"And you came home?" Spencer asks. "That had to suck."

"I made him do most of them."

Spencer says, "You could've crashed. Driven to the studio tomorrow or something," and Brendon shrugs.

He says, "We have stuff to do. We have this whole carpool planned." Grabbing the bottle of soda sitting in the cup-holder, Brendon takes a swig. "Hm -- we should go to the grocery store after we finish. Ran out of cereal and stuff this morning --"

"I think I'm gonna go to Chicago next week," Spencer says. "Haley wants me to visit."

"Oh," Brendon says. "That's cool." He looks at Spencer and tilts his head. "Kind of random, but..."

"Yeah, but I figure," Spencer says, twisting his hand around the steering wheel. "Why not?" He needs a change of scene anyway. There's nothing wrong with getting away from home every few months.

"Sure." The word comes out quickly, and Brendon turns to face the window, looking out. Spencer glances over a few times. He feels suddenly like he should say something extra, but he can't figure out what it might be.

;;

By the time they make it to record, Spencer's mostly forgotten about it. They play, and they run errands, and every day is like the other. Spencer plans his trip, and Brendon tells him that he should fly Virgin again, because that airline is the shit, and Spencer books with Jetblue. They make meals together and work together and go out for drinks together, and Spencer feels great when he doesn't feel kind of cagey.

They find another sports bar that serves beer on tap cheap, and during the walk home, Brendon complains about being cold. He takes Spencer's arm and drapes it over his shoulders. Spencer struggles with sluggish limbs but eventually makes it work, Brendon tucking himself against Spencer's side.

Brendon says, "This walk is shorter, dude. Believe you me, this is shorter than the one from Valentine's," and steps in to kiss Spencer in their doorway once they make it back.

"Huh," Spencer says, almost all breath.

"A thank you," Brendon insists.

They don't make it much further than the entrance, Spencer pushing Brendon against the inside of the door as they get it closed. Brendon sneaks his fingertips into Spencer's waistband, humming lightly. Spencer cocks his hips forward, closing all of the space between them. He feels good, grinding forward, trying to build up the friction. Spencer opens his mouth more when Brendon's tongue slides against his lip a little, teeth grazing, and then they're making out slowly, heat running from Spencer's head and down to his knees.

Brendon's laugh sobers him, unexpectedly. He loses his footing and slips down against the door some, the startled giggle cutting through the fog, and Spencer steps back. He breathes.

"What?" Brendon asks, disoriented, giddiness fading.

Spencer says, "Um," rubbing his hands over his pants. "Flight in a couple hours."

"Are you," Brendon asks and pauses. He shakes his head, furrowing his brows. "Dude."

It's warmer than he likes now, almost stifling. Spencer moves in quick, kisses Brendon's cheek as he murmurs, "Sorry. Night," casually. His room feels further than usual, and when he he gets there, Spencer still can't make it to sleep, tossing from side to side restlessly, exhausted when his alarm goes off hours later and he has to get up again.

;;

Chicago, however, is a great idea. Spencer sleeps through his flight, and on the first afternoon in, he and Haley eat at the same place they picked when they had lunch while he was on tour with Blink. He hasn't seen her in a while. They've talked on the phone, and Spencer still exchanges text messages with Haley, but having lunch in Chicago is the first time that he's seen her in a couple months.

"How's school?" he asks, after they've ordered their drinks and are left to browse their menus for a while.

She shrugs, saying, "It is what it is," and half-smiles. "I've told you about it. Are you still enjoying LA?"

"Yeah," Spencer says. "Everybody keeps saying it was a mild summer, and we'll probably get real LA when this next one hits. I don't know, but it's definitely more bearable than Vegas, and being right by the water is nice."

"Right, yeah, I keep forgetting you do that all the time now. Brendon's still teaching you?" Haley says. "You look good, by the way."

"So do you," Spencer says, because it's true. She always looks great though, so Spencer isn't really surprised by it either. "And, yeah, Brendon's been trying to help me out. That guy takes a few trips to Hawaii and thinks he's an expert now."

" _Is_ he good at it?"

"Ahh, he's better than me," Spencer says, laughing lightly. He lifts a shoulder and drops it just as quickly. "I guess that gives him some room to brag."

Haley laughs as he tells her about some of their early morning stories, about the way Brendon sometimes spends a couple hours in the water and then complains for the rest of the day about how he thinks he let ocean seep into his brain. Spencer thinks about the showers, about Brendon's laugh bouncing around on the tile and the way it fades into a moan when Spencer kisses him. He doesn't mention any of that though.

Drinking some of her water, Haley says, "That does definitely sound like Brendon," as she sets the cup back down. She's still half-smiling. "I've told you, man, it sounds like a great little place. The dog and the beach and everything. It's very you."

"Sure, yeah," Spencer says, and he has to shake his head to clear away the twist his stomach does then. He thinks about Bogart and clears his throat. "I like it. I feel kind of -- it gets kind of too much at times like this, working and living and everything, but it's an okay set-up."

"That's good."

"Anyway," Spencer says, touching his silverware. He straightens it unnecessarily and avoids thinking about his house more, about Brendon in it. "When we leave here, you have to let me check out the new car. You were excited about it."

"It's the best car," she says, half-smirking, and Spencer watches her smile get wider. "It's the best fucking car."

Spencer laughs and listens to her talk about how she's glad to be driving a hybrid.

;;

Melancholy poetics aside, Spencer's pretty sure nobody gets him quite like Haley. He knows a lot of it comes from the time they've spent together, and how intimate they used to be, but he still likes it. Some days, he's not entirely convinced that he won't end up marrying her after all, when they're both ready, but this is okay too, hanging out for days and figuring out how why it was important that they took a break when they did to salvage a friendship in the first place. They go to the amusement park and ride every roller coaster at least once, and Spencer convinces her to get onto Giant Drop a second time, even though she hates straight falls and nearly punches him in the side when they get off.

He gets a few texts from Brendon, but the only call comes after he and Haley leave the park, taking the long walk back to her car. Spencer answers his phone without really thinking about it, and then can't decide if it's the right decision when Brendon says, "Spence, hey. I'm on Shane's bed, using his laptop. We're buying cheesecakes from The Cheesecake Factory. What do you want?"

Spencer says, "Oh. What do they have?"

Clearing his throat dramatically, Brendon begins to list them, saying, "Key lime, Snickers Bar, Chocolate Tuxedo -- "

"Don't they have some kind of peanut butter?"

"Yeah," Brendon says, barely letting Spencer finish. "Yeah, yeah, you want that? It's kind of like a Reese's cup. It looks really good."

"That one," Spencer says, glancing at Haley, who's whistling as they walk along. She raises her eyebrow, questioning, but Spencer shakes his head, dismissing it.

Brendon says, "Done and done," and clears his throat, talking Spencer through his purchasing process. Once he finishes, he whoops on the other end. "When you get back, you're gonna have some fucking awesome, sweet cheesecake."

"Nice," Spencer says.

"Mhm." Brendon goes silent, and Spencer just lets him, allows Brendon to get himself situated. "Anyway, sorry. That's all I wanted. How's your trip?"

The mood shifts. Spencer feels even less at ease, shrugging his shoulder but failing to get rid of the strange combination of restlessness and exhaustion. He says, "Fine. We're about to grab dinner or something."

"Tell Haley I said hey." The smile in Brendon's voice is familiar, and Spencer suddenly imagines him sitting on Shane's bed in more detail than he really wants. Brendon would sit with his legs crossed, laptop propped on him and his iPhone earbuds in. Spencer's seen it a lot in person.

He says, "Yeah, sure," and takes a breath. "Alright, I'm gonna go."

"Oh, yeah, yeah," Brendon says. "Later."

Their isn't any fanfare. Hanging up, Spencer turns to Haley and she says, "Home?"

"Yeah, it was -- Brendon, you know."

Spencer wonders why he's putting so much effort into downplaying it a half-second after he's spoken. By the time he catches on, he's already shrugged his shoulders about Brendon four times, so he continues to dedicate himself to the sentiment.

;;

The Midwest treats him well, but once Spencer's back in Los Angeles, it feels like his time has passed too soon. Brendon picks him up at the airport and hugs Spencer's shoulders.

"Back to life, back to reality," he says and laughs when Spencer rolls his eyes. "Don't get all -- you know. I could be singing it instead."

"I'm just looking at you, man," Spencer says, unable to suppress his amusement for much longer.

He is pretty glad to be back. He's always glad, he thinks. He's grown more accustomed to Los Angeles than he really expected. Spencer figured that if he'd lived in one desert, another couldn't be too much more exciting. LA hasn't blown his mind, but it feels like home in its own way.

They grab Spencer's bag from the luggage claim and head out. Brendon drives like an asshole. He keeps his hand on the wheel at ten and two, but he speeds everywhere as if following half the law to the letter makes up for the fact that speed limits are apparently gibberish to him.

Spencer says, "You can slow down."

"I'm keeping up with traffic," Brendon says, like always, and he smiles at Spencer, glancing right and then back at the road three times within the same minute. "Did you have fun?"

"Yeah," Spencer says. Brendon seems to wait for him to elaborate. "We went to Great America."

"That's really cool," Brendon says. He thumps the heel of his hand over the steering wheel as they stop at a light. "I haven't been to that one. We should go. I was thinking the other day, or, um. I was talking to Shane about how I've never actually been to the top of the Stratosphere. We should ride that one."

Spencer says, "Planning some thrill-seeking for the holidays."

"You have to," Brendon says. "We could hit that 400-something-foot ride in Jersey too."

"That's right," Spencer says, laughing. He forgot about that. They joked about having heart attacks on the way down. Nobody can remember the drop because everyone must black out. Spencer reclines his seat more and thinks about airfare. He looks to Brendon. "You and Shane hung out while I was gone?"

"Yep." Brendon gnaws on the corner of his lip. "Most of the time. He actually had a shoot with Ryan and Jon at one point, so I --"

"Did you go?"

"No." Brendon shakes his head immediately. "I talked to them for a second, on the phone, but I didn't go. Jon played me part of a new song he's writing."

Spencer crosses his ankles against the car floor. "Nice."

"Mhm," Brendon says. He goes quiet for a long stretch of time, and Spencer opens the glove box to pull out of some of the gum he knows Brendon keeps there. "It sounded good."

"Cool." Taking a breath, Spencer reaches out and touches Brendon's shoulder, sliding his fingers to Brendon's neck. He kneads the muscles, saying, "Do we have ice cream at the house? I want a float all of a sudden."

Brendon says, "Shit," emphatically. "That sounds fucking delicious. I like when you come home full of good ideas."

They only have Coke at the house, it turns out, which doesn't taste the same at all over the ice cream, but Brendon insists it's delicious. The ice cream is thick enough that they still use spoons, standing side-by-side at the counter, and after several swallows, Brendon moves in and presses his cold lips against Spencer's jaw. He laughs at the way Spencer startles involuntarily, his grin all teeth, and Spencer retaliates, pinching him in the side.

"Ah," Brendon says, exaggerating the pain. There's no way that actually hurt too badly, but Brendon frowns anyway. "Low blow. You play this game dirty."

Shaking his head, Spencer says, "Jesus, the overdramatics," reaching for Brendon with a flat palm now, rubbing his side. Brendon smirks up at Spencer, stealing a look down at his hand. He holds his arm out awkwardly to allow Spencer the access, stepping forward easily so that his arm hooks over Spencer's shoulder. High school, Spencer thinks. It reminds him of the anxiousness that comes with everything about being pubescent and he thinks about dances, disobeying parents, and sneaking in late.

Spencer's been home less than an hour, and Brendon's already succeeded in making him feel young and ill-equipped again. He kisses Spencer's jaw another time, mouth warmer this round. He gets in a couple more, touching Spencer's face to keep him still, kissing his cheek and the corner of his mouth. Spencer lets his mind wander, gripping Brendon's side like it anchors him, and Brendon plants one firmly against Spencer's lips before Spencer pulls back, paying close attention to the way the tile feels cool under his feet instead of anything else.

"You kept up with the DVR, didn't you?" Spencer asks, taking his float and moving away, out of the kitchen. "I have a whole lot of _Man v. Food_ to catch up on."

Brendon's response comes a beat late. He says, "Yeah," and, "Uh. Yeah, it's there," and he follows along, sort of dazed. They don't sit close enough on the couch to touch, and in the middle of the first episode they start, Spencer texts Haley to let her know he made it back okay, thanking her again for lending her place.

;;

The first day Spencer met Brendon, he and Ryan didn't hear Brendon's life story, exactly, but he could tell Brendon was a little nervous because he wouldn't shut up. He talked about how his parents thought he should focus more on his homework instead of buying new CDs, about how he got in trouble for smoking pot in school a couple years before, about how he had a lot of sisters and brothers, but his nieces and nephews were all great, and he liked being the cool uncle just by being the youngest. He talked about movies and TV, and he played some songs for them, including one he wrote, and after he left, Ryan sat crossed-legged on Spencer's floor and said, "Brendon, huh? Brent didn't even warn us."

That's par for the course with Brendon, Spencer's learned as things have progressed. He's not consistently the kind of person to do outrageous things for shock value, but he manages to catch Spencer off guard in small ways all the time.

One of the first few times Brendon got drunk, they had still been teenaged, staying up late away from home, and he'd talked a lot about how he was so glad he'd kissed someone finally, god. Spencer had had one and a half beers, which was a big deal at the time. It had been enough alcohol to make Spencer tell Brendon to shut up, that everybody kissed somebody eventually, fucking Christ, and Brendon had giggled after he kissed Spencer then, quickly, opening his mouth slightly. He'd said, "Look at your _face_ ," and Spencer had forgotten it happened until about halfway through the next day.

Brendon had been weirdly demure about it when Spencer brought it up later, saying, "I did that?" and smiling but not really confirming. He'd shaken his head, chuckling at himself, and that's how it always was with Brendon, buoying between coy and the kind of person who had sex with his girlfriend while Ryan and his own were in the room, if Spencer remembers _that_ story correctly.

It makes things interesting now, as Spencer watches Brendon walk around in his bath towel in the morning, cataloging history and comparing it to what he knows these days.

What Spencer knows is: Brendon's still a great fucking musician. Brendon is a pretty fucking great housemate.

What Spencer doesn't know is if he's in over his head.

He calls Ryan, because he hasn't talked to him much in about a month.

"Spence," Ryan says in place of hello. "I was thinking about you the other day."

"The past always come back," Spencer says, and Ryan laughs.

He says, "Good job. That was just the scariest thing I've heard this week."

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean people aren't out to get you," Spencer adds, and Ryan's groan morphs into a noncommittal laugh toward the end.

He says, "Did you call to give me an anxiety attack?"

"I called because I feel like I haven't heard from you in forever," Spencer says. They've never been especially crazy about the phone, just because they saw each other so much as it was -- talking in person was easier. Spencer figures he might as well at least make the effort sometimes now. "I heard Shane shot some stuff for you."

Ryan says, "Oh, yeah," slow and lazy. "We've been coming up with concepts. Ideas for a video and test shooting some areas. It's really low-budget. Do-it-yourself."

"Good stuff so far?"

"Maybe," Ryan says. "How'd you hear? You talked to Shane?"

"Brendon," Spencer says. He makes an unnecessary noise with his mouth, sucking his teeth, and then he decides, fuck it. It's the truth.

Ryan says, "That's right," and hums under his breath tonelessly. "I didn't get to see him, but I forgot he was hanging out with Shane when Jon called."

"Yeah," Spencer says. He's fairly positive that Brendon and Ryan have spoken in the last few months, probably, but if actually speaking to one another has the kind of effect on a conversation that just bringing each other up does, then Spencer might understand if they've kept them to a minimum. "He's got the dog and everything."

"I know," Ryan says. He sounds bored but polite. That's nothing new. He's trying.

"And then Sarah might visit while she's out --"

Ryan says, "I didn't know they were still --"

"Not really. Whatever. It's Brendon. It's hard to explain," Spencer says and shrugs, because it isn't really. He and Sarah are still friends. That isn't hard at all. It's more that the reason Spencer knows they're not still dating is because, sometimes, Brendon crawls into bed with him at night. That's a little fucking weird for friendly conversation. There are certain things Spencer doesn't ever want to consider being able to trade notes with Ryan about.

He tries a different approach. "Are you still working with Alex? I heard Jon has a new song too."

"We're still trying to work with what we have, so we haven't recorded a lot of extra yet," Ryan says, perking up again some. "Alex is always excited about playing on stuff though, so it's -- I don't really know for sure. There's always something happening."

It had surprised Spencer, at first, that Ryan and Jon seemed to have so much already written. He hadn't really known how to reconcile that they could have gotten halfway through recording just two months after the for of them had made the decision to try separate endeavors, but the more time he spent letting Brendon pull out half-formed songwriting ideas from years past, Spencer began putting things into perspective again. He didn't automatically feel one-hundred percent better, but it had helped. Brendon still helps. There's no cure that can match being busy.

He says, "Any shows coming up?"

"Um," Ryan says. "Not really. Not in the next few weeks."

"Let me know," Spencer says. He marks them in his phone's calendar whenever Ryan tells him, but that depends on Ryan actually telling him. He usually forgets. Spencer always extends the offer on the phone, though, just in case.

Ryan says, "Of course." He clears his throat and doesn't say anything for a long moment, Spencer listening to silence until Ryan makes a slow, humming noise, gearing up for something. "I haven't really talked to Brendon."

"He's okay," Spencer says. Brendon's still the same: small, smiling, and loud when he isn't feeling withdrawn, and Spencer really enjoys living with him, which is a complete problem. "You know. We surf and write and eat sushi."

"Sounds nice," Ryan says, voice flat but not unkind. Not dismissive.

"Yeah." Spencer thinks about saying more. He considers telling Ryan about how Brendon likes to kiss him good morning, and Spencer doesn't know if he should think to stop that more often than he does. He can't recall seeing him do that kind of thing with Ryan, but he also doesn't want to ask. Instead, Spencer says, "He liked the song Jon played him."

"Oh, yeah?" Ryan says, and them clears his throat. "He could've come by and hung around."

Spencer's pretty sure Brendon knows that. He says, "He has the dog and everything," and feels kind of lame giving that as an excuse. Spencer suddenly can't remember exactly why he called, but he doesn't want the point to be playing pseudo-mediator, so he changes the subject. "Tell me more about your shows, man."

"Right," Ryan says. "We had this idea for a small tour. Alex was helping me come up with it."

;;

It doesn't seem fair to Spencer, later, as he thinks again about his conversation with Ryan. There's a tension that's happening now, too vague to really name but present enough that Brendon hasn't talked to him except for very deliberate occasions, but it's still something they did and let go. Ryan probably doesn't care about who Brendon was with before or has messed around with since.

Spencer's a nesting creature. That's the kind of thing Jackie's said to him, voice teasing but light, repeating a conversation with their mother that they had in his absence. She'd been poking fun, nothing serious, but it makes Spencer think of Haley now, and about whatever Haley meant about moving in with Brendon. Spencer's never honestly done casual. He had Haley, and a single, one-night thing between her and Brendon that he rarely thinks about, and that he still hasn't really figured out if he liked.

He's not sure if it counts as serial monogamy when he's only dated one person long-term for certain, because even though he's slept with Brendon more than a couple times now, they aren't anything. They're friends, Spencer thinks, and he's assuming that's the intention, otherwise, picking up cheesecakes and delivering the one Brendon got for Pete while Brendon takes his dog to the vet again wouldn't have Spencer thinking so fucking hard.

At Pete's house, Spencer takes up his box of Fresh Banana Cream cheesecake and watches Pete try to share a slice with Bronx. It doesn't fly so much, because Bronx keeps spitting out the few bites he even tries, and Pete laughs and wipes his face with his bib.

"Not a banana cream fan, huh?" Pete asks Bronx, and Bronx keeps frowning.

"Where's Ashlee? Shooting?" Spencer asks, hooking his feet on the barstool next to his own. Pete nods, pushing the plate of cheesecake aside.

He says, "Yeah," and he wipes his fingers on Bronx's shirt. "You want some of this?"

"No, thanks." Spencer holds up a hand and then drops flat again. "Brendon and I had half of one of the others last night. I like chocolate, but these things are rich."

"I know," Pete says. "I like that that dude gets bored and buys cake for everybody. His idea of splurging is fucking hilarious." He bites his lip in the next instant and covers Bronx's ears belatedly, then pulls them away. "Just kidding. Hey, you didn't hear that. Fudging. I said fudging."

Laughing, Spencer says, "I think you're fine, man. I doubt he'll remember."

"Whatever, man, I know. Or I think I know? But then babies can also learn multiple languages if they grow up hearing them, so how many times do I get to slip before he picks up the f-bomb?" Pete asks. He touches his head and then points to Spencer. "You didn't think about it like that, did you?"

"You're right." Spencer nods. He still laughs, and he says, "You said fudging."

"I definitely said fudging," Pete agrees. He kisses the side of Bronx's head. "Where is the other half of the dream team, by the way?"

"Vet," Spencer says. He shrugs and shakes his head. "Bogart was sick a couple weeks ago, and now Brendon's kind of paranoid. He wanted a check-up. Being cautious and everything."

"Smart."

"Yeah, although he also keeps saying that it's like, I don't know, his duty as a good doggy daddy," Spencer says, pushing his hair out of his face.

Pete laughs this time, and he says, "Shut the fuck up, dude. You know you love that shit."

"Doggy daddy," Spencer repeats, trying to emphasize how silly it sounds. He smiles despite himself, thinking about Brendon with his leash and then picking up Bogart anyway, saying he was so fly in the jacket Regan bought him that he could ride shotgun. Brendon's a nut, but he's funny -- he's fun.

Pete says, "He called me when he was getting that dog. I think he called everybody, but I was on the phone when he picked him, and I was saying, you know. That dog is fuc -- _fudging_ \-- loud like him -- like me, so he should be the one."

Spencer smiles crookedly, the intensity of the one before fading on his face. He drums his fingers against the countertop and thinks about Brendon spending evenings hanging out with Pete on his bus and in his house, and he feels fucking crazy opening his mouth, but Spencer says, "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, man." Pete picks Bronx up and makes an 'oof' sound, murmuring to Bronx that he's like a sack of potatoes. He says he's a suave and ingenious sack of potatoes, superior to all the Russets of the world, and then he looks up to Spencer again, chuckling.

Shaking his head, Spencer says, "I need to be -- we should probably both be way more wasted than we are for me to not seem, I don't know. You know."

"Spit it out, Smith."

"Have you," Spencer thinks and tilts his head from side to side, debating. "You and Brendon haven't ever, you know. You haven't hooked up."

He means for it come out more like a question. The lift in his voice gets lost in the translation somewhere, and that detail, out of everything, is what makes him kind of nervous. He fidgets, shifting his feet and folds his hands, then unfolding them just as quickly.

Pete raises his eyebrows. He grins, the sort of disarming smile Pete gets when he's catching on to something but hasn't figured out hot to spin it yet. Spencer's seen him do it to people, watched him rethink his game plans on the spot and still make stoic people laugh. With Spencer, the image is altered because he's got his kid in his arms, hoisting him up, but Pete still smiles and says, "Depends on why you're asking. No? I mean, no, we haven't, but it's not like we couldn't have -- you know what I mean?" He sighs. "We're kind of similar like that, or I used to be more than I am now, but sometimes people have that energy, where maybe it hasn't, but you don't know if it won't."

"Oh," Spencer says, trying to parse it. "Yeah..."

"I don't plan to, but I mean. If you're really worried about --"

"No, I don't. I'm not," Spencer says and rolls a shoulder, stretching out his back a little. "It's not like I have an issue with flirting, dude."

"Okay," Pete says. "I'm saying, though. Sometimes it's not even a big thing, with people. Sometimes it's just that."

Spencer suddenly gets the feeling that Pete's trying to be reassuring, and that makes Spencer realize he's not even sure about why he asked. Curiosity, maybe. He'd wondered, in the past. He was just curious. He says, "I hear you," and takes a breath. He should probably get out and head back home soon. "It was a random question."

"Eh. It's a household," Pete says, shrugging. He goes quiet for a moment and then makes a humming sound, leading up to something. "Have you asked him yet?"

;;

No. Spencer hasn't asked Brendon anything, because he's not a hundred percent sure what he's even supposed to be asking anymore.

Shane and Regan's St. Patrick's day party goes off a week later than it should, thanks to sudden conflicts. Spencer still goes with Brendon, the two of them taking his car and going over the last couple demos they need to rerecord. This record hasn't taken nearly as long as Pretty Odd did to write and record, but the fact that it's still at least somewhat delayed has made Spencer feel like the process is going on forever. He's never been more anxious to get something done and show people the result of a lot of time and effort.

They're supposed to be making mental notes about changes, but after one listen-through for each song, Brendon turns to KIIS FM instead and says, "Alright, fuck, now it's time for some Britney, perfect. Anything. Let's finish that later. Britney and then drinking are on the menu right now."

The consequences of that idea mean that Brendon ends up singing "If You Seek Amy" at random intervals all night long. It's the earworm that sticks with him once he's drunk, sidling up to Spencer more than once and singing that, "All of the boys and all of the girls are begging to F-U-C-K me."

"You're supposed to say the lyrics -- the song title," Spencer says, laughing. "If you seek Amy, dude. It's supposed to be a little more ambiguous than what you're doing. And that song isn't even playing."

Brendon blows it off, throwing his head back and making a _pfft_ noise. He says, "The point still stands," and he nudges Spencer's side. "Hey. Dance with me."

"I'm not dancing with you to Rachel Yamagata, or whatever this is. This slow song."

"It'll be like a sock hop," Brendon says, because Spencer forgets sometimes that Brendon was born in the 50s and time-traveled to the present but accidentally landed on his head.

"No," Spencer says. Brendon ignores him, sliding his hands around Spencer's waist anyway and looking up. He sways some, saying, "Dance with me, Spencer," and Spencer can feel the neck of Brendon's beer bottle poking at his back.

He doesn't think the methodic back and forth they're managing counts as dancing, but Brendon doesn't ask again. He hums along with the song, adding little, idle vocal trills a half-beat off the record, because he doesn't actually know the words, he's just following lead. When the vocalist dies out for a few measures, Brendon raises up and kisses Spencer, sinking down again so slowly that Spencer has to follow not to break the kiss preemptively. When they're down, Brendon pulls back and smiles like he's won something.

Spencer says, murmuring, "There are people here."

"Shane's friends," Brendon says. "They don't care."

"Hm," Spencer says, but it doesn't extend past that. He doesn't push Brendon away, instead encircling his arms and letting Brendon rest his chin on Spencer's shoulders as they hug.

Brendon lifts his chin and says, quietly, "I'm ready to go home whenever you are."

Spencer nods. He hadn't been thinking about it actively, but now that Brendon's mentioned it, he doesn't mind the idea. They've made an appearance, hung out, and mingled enough to take off without feeling bad. He says, "Yeah. Yeah, let's go."

They don't go out of their way to say goodbye to anyone except for Regan and Shane. A few people stop them on the way out of the door, and they smile and high-five a couple of old acquaintances and new friends. Outside, silence falls, comfortable and sleepy, and Brendon hooks his arm around Spencer's, saying, "Man. That one guy? Cole or whatever? He was nice, but he was --"

"Kind of a lot, I know," Spencer says, amused.

Brendon exhales dramatically, signaling his exhaustion. He says, "Partying is hard."

Spencer chuckles, saying, "You're just not cut out of for it at twenty-two the way you were at twenty."

"Ain't that the truth," Brendon says and smiles, laughing too. "No, I mean. I don't know. I am tired though. I want to pet my dog and crash."

"Good plan," Spencer says, approving.

It sounds like a solid way to end the night. Spencer thinks about doing the same, which, well, doesn't account for why he lets Brendon kiss him again when they get home, standing in the living room. It's supposed to be sweet, Spencer thinks. Brendon says, "Thanks for driving back," once they're inside the house, and the kiss starts out close-mouthed and swift, but Brendon parts his lips and Brendon obliges, and when Spencer reaches around and pulls Brendon closer, Brendon moans softly.

He gets carried away. Brendon is distracting and intoxicating when he wants to be, from the way he smells to the way he smiles, lopsided in moments like this, to the way he moves Spencer's hands down to the hem of his shirt and encourages him to pull it off. Spencer isn't even tipsy anymore, but it's hard to switch his brain off, out of that lazy party mode, and his stomach knots up as he gets Brendon's shirt out of the way, touching his skin and kissing him.

The closer bedroom seems like the better option, just in the interest of being horizontal, so they kick things out of the way in Brendon's room and topple on his bed. They make out on top of the sheets. Brendon's perpetually hot at night, and his comforter already spends more time on the ground than on the mattress, but Spencer's grateful for it now, heated and anxious himself. They eventually separate once the clothes get too constraining to tolerate anymore, and Brendon wriggles out of his jeans as Spencer shoves his own pants down too.

He doesn't get time to discard his shirt, Brendon rucking it up and grinding their hips together. He straddles Spencer's waist, and when Spencer's ready to spread him open, he flips them like that, Brendon holding on tightly with his thighs. He laughs as they bounce against the bed some, and then quiets when Spencer gets his fingers wet, finding the lube, then sliding two fingers inside.

They don't find a steady rhythm, changing up between slow and more erratic once Spencer thrusts inside of Brendon, bracing his palms on the mattress, grateful that nobody else lives in the house anymore each time his stupid bed bumps into the wall.

"Fuck," Brendon says. "It's -- shit, it's so fucking good." He's got a litany of curses, though less than usual. Spencer can tell he's sort of tired, pushing back as good as Spencer gives, but he's quieter, reduced to harsh breaths and the arch of his back.

Spencer thinks he likes this best, when they're spread a little thin, tangled together in the dark and fighting off fatigue. It's a good kind of work, feeling Brendon's fingers flex against his back, grunting low in his throat, and when Brendon comes first, Spencer slows the pace way down to drag out the spark of it. Brendon always shivers -- he actually fucking _shivers_ when he comes, and once Spencer tried to count how many times he could make that happen in the wake of one orgasm, switching up the pace or pulling out farther or kissing different areas of Brendon's skin just to see what would happen.

He does the same thing now, and the best part is how impatient Brendon gets, swatting his hand against Spencer's arm and saying, "Move. Come on, do it how you want," because he's courteous about making sure Spencer gets off too, in the most demanding way.

And Spencer finishes. They both get theirs, and when he pulls out, he ties off the condom and drops it in the wastebasket Brendon keeps near the bed. They don't lie on top of each other, because Brendon complains about being hotter than hell in the summertime, but he always finds Brendon's fingers after a good few minutes, because he's still Brendon, and not even body temperatures really deter compulsive tactility.

Spencer's learned to fall asleep that way too, though, so he's stopped teasing Brendon for it.

"Are you sleepy?" Brendon asks, the words thick and slow, carefully formed around a yawn.

Looking at the clock on Brendon's nightstand reveals it's at least a half-hour past really fucking late. Spencer mutters, "Yeah," and stretches his legs out. "I should probably go get in my bed."

"No, stay here," Brendon whispers, squeezing Spencer's fingers. "It's easier. I don't mind."

"I don't know if I should, with you," Spencer says, deceptively bold in drowsiness of the aftermath.

Brendon snorts and shifts his head against the pillow. He asks, "What does that mean?"

Spencer sighs and slides his hand just a bit, pressing their palms together instead of hooking their fingers. He says, "I don't --" and sort of shakes his head as he lies, then leans closer and kisses the bridge of Brendon's nose.

Luckily, Brendon's already almost fully asleep.

;;

In the morning, Spencer has a headache. Brendon's already out of bed, and Spencer wakes up facing the wall, cocooned in sheets from the waist down. He unwraps himself and his head pounds. He gets out of bed and finds his underwear on the floor, pulling them up as he walks out into the living room and finds no one.

He goes into the kitchen and discovers a pot of coffee, pouring himself a cup and adding sugar just as the back door opens. Brendon walks inside, and he says, "Oh, hey," not really smiling. He waves once, then looks behind himself and calls for Bogart.

"Hey. Bogart, come in here," he says and whistles, and Spencer watches Bogart dash into the room soon after. He has one of his chew toys in his mouth, dropping it at Brendon's feet. Brendon tosses it into the living room, and Bogart chases after it, disappearing instead of coming back, and Brendon looks out that way for a moment, then walks further into the kitchen with his own empty mug.

He doesn't say anything else to Spencer, slipping past him and setting his dish in the sink. He turns and leans against the counter top, and Spencer can half see him out of the corner of his eye. He prepares his drink and then steps back, eying Brendon over the rim of the mug.

After he pulls it down, he says, "Sleep well?" because it's kind of random, having Brendon stare at him like that.

Brendon nods once and says, "Yeah. Okay, I think."

"Nightmares?" Spencer asks.

"No," Brendon says, furrowing his brow. "Why'd you ask that?"

"You're doing that thing you do," Spencer says. He tries to mimic Brendon's stare, but he thinks he makes it more blank than it really is. It's usually somewhere between that, really, Brendon half-dazed and caught up recalling it at the same time. Spencer hadn't even really noticed it as much until a few months ago, but Brendon swears he's had a problem with weird dreams forever.

Brendon shakes his head and says, "No, no nightmares," and lifts a shoulder, dropping it again the next instant. "I mean."

"What's up, man?" Spencer asks, because Brendon's waffling. He has something to say, and for as often as Brendon doesn't filter himself, he also gets strangely pent up about things, like he's waiting for a cue.

He says, "I was thinking about -- outside or, you know. When I woke up, I thought about what you said. Last night, you said that, uh, you know."

Spencer knows exactly what he said, and now he wishes he hadn't. He should have kept his mouth shut. He says, "Well--"

Brendon rolls his eyes, like he can't even be bothered with something he brought into the conversation. He says, "It's. Spence, fuck, I don't even know. It just seemed. Whatever."

Spencer says, "So, you're pissed at me."

"It's not even that," Brendon says, holding out his arms along the counter. "It's just, like -- what does that even mean? You don't know if you should sleep in the same bed or whatever. We can, ugh. We can fuck, I guess, but --"

"Whoa," Spencer says. "That wasn't what I meant. Brendon, that's not what I meant. You know that's not."

"I don't know what you meant at all, actually," Brendon says, "And I didn't do, um. It was kind of fucked up."

Spencer sets down his mug. He's clearly gotten himself into something that's going to require a little more focus. He sort of wishes he was wearing more than a pair of underwear for it.

He says, "It was one, stupid sentence. I shouldn't have said it, but --"

"That's not the only thing though," Brendon interjects. He runs a hand through his hair and exhales quickly. "First, with this party. Shane calls me, and he was saying that you're, you know -- you even said, dude. We do shit together, but then, you know. Fuck it, whatever."

"No, say it," Spencer says. He's generally someone who likes it when people are up front. He considers himself a direct guy. "Tell me."

"I don't get it," Brendon says. "I guess that's what I mean. I don't get what it is to you. I'm -- what, like. We sleep together, but you don't think you should or that it's not. Or it's like we're not even doing anything at all."

Spencer's eyes widen, and he says, "I'm --? Brendon, are you serious? We went out, and you hooked up with some girl."

"I didn't," Brendon says immediately. "I told you, I didn't. And, dude, you went to visit Haley. If we're keeping score now, all of a sudden. What the fuck."

"That's not the same," Spencer says. "You're friends with Sarah. You know how that is. Dude, you can't be surprised, because I pay attention to what you --"

"To what? What about me?" Brendon asks, annoyed. When he gets riled up, he gets harder to talk to, but Spencer crosses his arms and doesn't go anywhere.

He rubs at his eye, pausing. He shrugs once, twice, and he knows he shouldn't open his big mouth as he starts to speak, but then it's already on the way, and he says, "You've slept with about half the people we know, dude."

"Wow, fuck you," Brendon says easily, stunned. He recovers from it a beat late, and he shakes his head, cutting Spencer off when he tries to say something else -- clarify. "I'm sorry everybody can't pretty much get married to the person they met at seventeen." He stops and snaps his fingers. "Oh, shit, neither can you."

"Dude, are you really going to go there?" Spencer says, stern. "Haley didn't do shit to you."

Brendon pushes away from the counter. He huffs, making a show of his frustration, and Brendon says, "But it's cool for you to think fucked up stuff about me."

"Brendon," Spencer says, and he blames this whole conversation on the fact that he's only had one fourth of his cup of coffee.

"Forget it, dude," Brendon says, snatching his keys off the counter. "I'm gonna run to the store to buy Bogart some more food. Hopefully I don't trip and fall on somebody's dick or something, while I'm out."

Sometimes, Brendon is twelve and bratty, and Spencer doesn't have the patience. He gives up. He says, "Fine. Never mind. I wasn't saying it like that, but you don't care."

"I'm glad you did, really," Brendon says, still stubborn and upset. "Now I know."

"You don't know, though." Spencer unfolds his arms and picks up his mug again. "I've barely explained --"

"It's cool if," Brendon says and clears his throat. "It's cool if it's a rebound, or you're just, I don't know. You're supposed to be my fucking friend though, I thought. At least. And how fucked up is it, anyway, for you to sleep with somebody you don't even think much of?"

The question hangs there. It would be a trap, answering it now, so he shrugs, and Brendon rolls his eyes again and walks out of the kitchen. Spencer stands there and drinks his cup of coffee to about half before dumping it out and rinsing the mug. He loads the dishwasher, and he takes a shower, thinking about Brendon's face, and how upset he'd gotten. Spencer tries to let the hot water clear his head. It doesn't help him do much except rerun the conversation in his head, ready to call the whole morning a draw already.

When he gets out, he notices that it's not even eleven yet, and his headache hasn't gone away, so he takes three aspirin and goes to sleep in his own bed. Fuck it.

;;

Around two, his phone rings for the fifth time since he laid back down. He's ignored it for the last few hours, but he loses the dedication now and takes a look at the screen. There are a couple missed calls from his mom, a couple text messages from Zack about coming down to San Diego, and Spencer has one voicemail from his mother that he listens to in full and then makes a mental note to respond to later.

When he gets up, he can't find Brendon in the house. Spencer gets dressed and checks his room, the backyard, and the front porch, but Brendon isn't there, and it doesn't even look like he's been back. It definitely doesn't take four hours to pick up dog food, not even in Los Angeles, where everything is out of the way. Spencer has no idea where Brendon might be, but he's not about to wait around either. He pulls on his shoes and gets Bogart's leash, since he doesn't know when Brendon plans to turn up again, and he brings the dog with him, getting in the car and heading out to run some errands.

He pays his cell phone bill in-store, he stops for another coffee, he pays the water bill, and somewhere around the time that he's at the grocery store trying to remember what kind of cereal it had been that Brendon mentioned wanting to get instead of Corn Pops, Spencer starts to feel like an asshole.

He looks at his phone, but he still has no messages from Brendon. A good night and a fucked up morning. Replaying the conversation in his head, he can hear it unraveling, and he hadn't really gotten a chance to say anything he actually might have wanted to for real.

He buys three different boxes of cereal, and when he gets back to the car, Bogart's pressing his paws against the window. Spencer sets the groceries in the trunk so that Bogart won't nose through them and get stuff all over the backseat of the car. He climbs into Spencer's lap, and Spencer pets him, saying, "Alright, man, we'll take you by the park or something."

It's only been a couple hours. It's approaching five o'clock when they get to the dog park, and Spencer sits out with Bogart, letting him run around. Spencer keeps a close eye on him to make sure he doesn't get into any trouble with other dogs or eat things he shouldn't, looking away for half a second when his phone rings.

He says, "Hey," as calmly as he can, and Brendon doesn't say anything right away.

When he does speak, he says, "Did you take my dog?"

Spencer grits his teeth and lets his gut reaction go. He says, "I didn't know what time you were coming back."

"Oh," Brendon says. "I wasn't gonna stay out and leave him in the dark."

"I didn't say that," Spencer says.

He can hear Brendon sigh on his line. He says, "Alright. I'm home now," and then he says goodbye without preamble and hangs up.

Spencer stares out at Bogart for a minute, sliding his phone back in his pocket, letting his pulse settle. Once, halfway through tracking in Los Angeles while they were still figuring out the tone for their second record, Ryan and Brendon stopped talking to each other for a whole day except in irritated voicemail messages. When he's upset, Brendon can dish it out just as harshly as he gets it from someone. Spencer knows that if he wants to get anywhere, he needs to try a better approach, but of course it's harder to be the objective one when he's in it.

He stays out for another half hour, getting into a few polite conversations with a couple of other owners. He gets bored with it after more than a few instances of trying to explain that it's not his dog, it's his roommate's, but yeah, he doesn't mind helping out. Bogart comes along easily enough, Spencer driving them back to the house.

When he gets inside, Bogart sprints off to his bed in the living room, and Spencer doesn't see Brendon again, but his keys are on the kitchen counter when Spencer goes to put away the things he bought. He sets the boxes of cereal on top of the fridge and spends a few minutes debating about what they could make for dinner.

He turns on the oven. If Brendon wants, they can just make their owns pizzas again. Spencer toes off his shoes and walks towards Brendon's room to ask him if he's hungry, really, because Brendon might hate him right now, but they might as well still eat. After a bad fight with Haley last year, the only time they were in the same place at the same time for a whole week was to eat, and Spencer hadn't enjoyed it, but he knows how to deal, if need be.

It's intensely orange in Brendon's room, the light from the sun streaming in as it sets. Spencer squints as he looks around the door, and Brendon's asleep on his bed, facing away from the door. Spencer walks closer, sitting down on the floor. he reaches up and pushes at Brendon's back, not enough to jar him too much but enough to make sure he feels it.

Brendon grumbles. He rolls on his stomach and murmurs, "What? Go away," then pulls his pillow over his head.

"Hey," Spencer says. "Are you hungry? I'm trying to figure out what to make for dinner."

"Nothing. I'll eat Top Ramen. Worry about yourself," Brendon says. Spencer shakes his head, looking to the side. He could get up and ignore Brendon, but he feels -- he's not so big a douchebag that he doesn't know he should apologize.

Spencer says, "You're mad, I know, but we gotta eat too. I was thinking about making pizzas. We've still got some of that pre-made dough or whatever. What topping do you want?"

Brendon groans, so Spencer takes some initiative and climbs over him, onto the bed. He's lying in the same place where he woke up this morning. He doesn't know if the sheets have even been changed, probably not, but he doesn't care at this point either, lifting the pillow off of Brendon's head, and then doing it again when Brendon moves it back.

Spencer says, "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Where's my dog?" Brendon asks, pushing the pillow away and looking over his shoulder. "I want him instead."

"Dude," Spencer says. "I get it. I was fucked up. I was out of line. I'll fucking tell you I was an asshole, if you'll give me half a second."

Brendon breathes out audibly, and then yawns. He looks at Spencer, still peeved, but the intensity is tampered by the sleepiness in his face. He says, "It's probably better anyway, dude. We're, you know. Let's just make a record."

"Because being angry at the only other person in your band is a great way to finish an album."

"You fucking suck at apologizing," Brendon says.

Spencer closes his eyes, burying his face in the sheets and then looking up again. He says, "Yeah, okay, okay. I'm like -- I'm fucking up, because I don't know what I'm doing here. Other people, you know. Even you've had casual relationships, and I'm -- this should be easy, shouldn't it? But I live with you. And you're. It's not your thing, long-term, but maybe it's what I got. Maybe it's what I know how to do."

"Your self-loathing isn't my problem," Brendon deadpans.

Spencer says, "Brendon."

Brendon groans and says, finally, "Okay," looking at Spencer directly. "Okay, sorry, what? I'm listening."

"Like right now? I feel like I'm having the kind of argument I've had with Haley before," Spencer says, and when Brendon snorts, he amends. "Not exactly. You know what I mean."

"I know that you make a lot of assumptions about me," Brendon says, picking at the sheets between them.

Spencer nods, and he says, "You're right. I just assumed, you know. After Ryan, and Sarah, and Shane, and anyone else. You're different from me, man."

"What do you want, Spencer?" Brendon asks, sort of abrupt. He sighs. "Not to be -- not. In general. With this. What did you think this was?"

Spencer thinks about it. He thinks about their first time, about moving in, about sharing bills and a dog, and how even sharing a band becomes part of the equation with that much stacked in the same column. He says, "I don't know," and looks up at the ceiling for a moment. It's the most accurate answer he can come up with. "I don't know, because I can't figure out where you're at."

When he looks back at Brendon, he thinks Brendon's eyes might be closed. It would be his fucking luck that Brendon just went to sleep on him again, but he's only glancing down, attention snapping up again a second after Spencer shifts. Spencer follows his line of sight, but he just sees the proximity of their legs, closest at the feet and knees.

Brendon's quiet, the two of them lying side-by-side in the late evening, and Spencer can hear the faint scuffling noises of Bogart moving around on the kitchen tile. Spencer catches Brendon's eyes again, and he says, "Sorry."

Sniffing, Brendon shifts against the pillow, not really going anywhere. He says, "I'm good at keeping people guessing," and takes a breath. "I like keeping people interested. I like that you're interested, or you were, or, you know. Whichever. Hopefully the first."

"It is," Spencer says, softly, trying not to interrupt too much.

Brendon stares at him, making a clicking sound with his mouth. He says, "I like that you moved in."

"That's all?" Spencer asks, and he bites his lip.

"Dude," Brendon says, groaning dramatically, but he nudges Spencer's shoulder, mouth crooked in a small smile. "Do you want me to lay it out?"

"Yes," Spencer says, bending his knee more and bumping it against Brendon's leg. "Spell it out. Tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine."

Brendon rears his head back slightly, saying, "Whoa. Whoa, wait, is this about something different now? I'm intrigued."

"I like you," Spencer says, testing out simplicity. "And it's fucking complicated, because I already cared a lot about you, dude."

"That sounds rough. Confusing," Brendon says, pretending to commiserate.

"It is."

Brendon moves in closer, rolling so near that he can move a leg over Spencer's. Responding in kind, Spencer curls his fingers around Brendon's elbow. Brendon chuckles, low and smooth, and as he exhales, he burrows into his sheets. He makes a farting noise with his mouth and then says, "Alright, alright," and grunts. "I like living with you. Like this, I mean. And it's fucked up, because the last time I kind of did this, there was somebody else anyway. It wasn't the same at all. So I don't know what I'm doing either."

"Sounds like an adjustment," Spencer says.

"Fuck, yeah, dude," Brendon says. "Walk a mile in my shoes."

He laughs when Spencer gives him his best unimpressed face, moving in to smash his mouth to Spencer's own. Brendon pulls back, amused, and then he comes in close again for a better kiss, something deeper and lazy, startled suddenly when when Bogart runs in and hops on the bed, barking.

"Oh, shit," he says, glancing down. "You scared the shit out of me."

Bogart ignores him, settling on their feet, and Spencer touches Brendon's face. "Wait," he says, and he kisses Brendon another time. Brendon obliges him until Spencer slips his hand down, sliding his fingertips underneath Brendon's shirt.

"Mm," Brendon murmurs, retreating. "I'm not about to get it on with my dog right here, dude."

Spencer says, "He's a dog. It's not gonna scar him."

"It's fucking weird!" Brendon says. "He's _my_ dog."

Sitting up, Spencer says, "Bogart. Bogart, go get your ball," as Brendon laughs beside him. Spencer nudges Bogart until he jumps off the bed, heading back into the next room, and Spencer gets up to shut the door behind him. Brendon's still laughing from the bed, and Spencer doesn't care how anxious it makes him seem. He doesn't care at _all_ , covering Brendon and coaxing him into another kiss.


End file.
